


Integrous Isn’t A Word

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Author Doesn’t Know How To Tag, Gen, Genocide Route, In-Depth Thought About a Video Game, Instruments, LGBT+ Original Character, Multiple Players, Neutral Route, Original Character centric, Original Characters Have Blue and Cyan Soul Respectively, Pacifist Route, Spontaneousness, Too many references to modern musicals, What Is A Fourth Wall?, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-14 09:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14133330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Integrity: the quality of being honest and having strong moral principles; moral uprightness.Why does every soul other than integrity have an adjective form? A form to describe? Persevering, just, kind, brave, patient, determined.But staying integrous is impossible, because integrity can not describe...In other words, integrity is simply not resolute.(morals can change)





	1. entr’acte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you wake up

_A LONG TIME AGO…_

_HUMANS and MONSTERS ruled over the Earth.._

_One day, war broke out between the two races._

_After a long battle, the humans were victorious._

_They sealed the monsters underground with a magic spell._

_This story seems too familiar doesn’t it?_

_Yet, like with every knock knock joke, stories start the same and change with every telling._

_Name the—_

_*I have a name already, thank you!_

* * *

 

You lie awake in a bright and damp area, cool yet you feel light beating on the front side of your body.

_*Second person? Seriously?_

You swear you hear something you weren’t meant to, but you don’t focus on that. The moment you open your eyes, you turn away from the light. In that direction is a bass case, only the most useful of instrument cases.

If you had a narrator, you’re sure they’d ruin the reason why you have a bass case, but you clearly don’t because that’s some badly written story elements. Narrators can’t just give out secrets willy-nilly.

You decide with a _*c’mon, stop lazing about and do something,_  to grab the case.

_*You got… an instrument case. 2 ATK 3 DEF If you don’t want to risk that precious stuff._

The strange voice is back. That’s a bit weird, voice.

_*Well, you’re a bit weird, too, Matty._

Shut up. Literally nobody calls you that.

_*Ouch. Can’t you see how hurt I am?_

You snort to yourself and get up. A quick once over of yourself proves you are… mostly okay. You think.

_*Matilda._

_*LV: 3_  
_*HP: 1/5_

_*AT: 3 (5)_  
_*EXP: 0_  
_*DF: 6 (9)_  
_*NEXT: 17_

_*WEAPON: None_  
_*ARMOR: Bass Case_

_*GOLD: 0_

That voice again! It’s infuriating to you and you do not even know what half this stuff means.

_*You’ll figure it out._

That’s not ominous at all!

***LOAD.**

You lie awake in a bright and damp area, cool yet you— Wait. Wasn’t this familiar?

_*This shouldn’t happen. Hurry up, I need to think._

You decide to listen to the annoying voice and grab the case, slinging it over your back and running despite how much it pains your head.

You come across a grey arc, not caring for details and running through it again.

A little cavern with a spot of grass. You continue running into a dull blue area.

Puzzles. You run through the ones that are already solved then—

***LOAD.**

You’re back to the bright cavern again, not bothering to talk to the voice. You run with your bass case.

_*Rude. Still, hurry. Don’t got anything to do this time, I understand now._

You’re done with the presolved puzzled, solving new ones by throwing random stuff on the ground. You continue running.

_*You’re near the end._

You pause at the beginning of a house, not willing to go inside. It’s someone’s home, you don’t just enter and run through. You might ruin something!

_*You integrous child, just go in. It doesn’t belong to anyone anymore._

Integrous isn’t a word, Sa— wait, Samira? What? This has to be a bad dream.

_*Nope! Try pinching yourself or trying to fly. And integrous is definitely a word._

No it’s no— ow. Not dreaming. Integrous is not a word, Sam. She should know that because she has a phone with her, unlike you.

_*Definitely a word._

She sounded smug for saying the wrong answer. Wait, weren’t you supposed to be progressing?

_*Calm down, Tild. The kid saved._

What?

* _Don’t worry about it. Next time you “wake up” expect to be here._

That made no sense. You continue forward!

* _You might want a sweater._

You sigh before looking into your bass case to reveal a ukulele and many random items with billions of little compartments.

You take out a light grey colored hoodie that looked insanely flat with a shooting star in the center—

* _That’s pink, just so you know. Not grey._

You don’t care what color it is. It was one of the warmest ones you own. You put it on and continue.

* _You want to be a bit paranoid around here. Back there, there was no one left. Here, someone is mourning._

Good mourning to them, you hope, then nearly smack your head at the unintended pun. That was insanely insensitive!

* _Shh, pay attention._

You walk forward and see a broken twig.

* _That’s not suppo— yeah it is, nevermind._

You continue forward to a small looking bridge you’re not sure would stop anyone ever.

* _Watch out!_

* **LOAD**

Suddenly, not even a second later, you wake up at the spot Samira said you would.

* _Okay, you’re going to want to calm down, be a bit more cautious, or, actually, just run._

You decide the better solution.

You’re running at full speed (pretty fast, surprisingly) to the gate, crouching and skidding underneath it that you don’t even realize you hadn’t put on your hoodie.

It was freezing, but you ran and you ran and—

* _The kid saved. Man, they’re really bad at this. Calm down, Matilda!_

You calm down, falling to the side from exhaustion.

* _Should have made you do this earlier. Heal up, take my supplies and fix up anything that’s wrong._

She’s right, you should’ve. You open your case to get out the hoodie and some band-aids. You decide to grab disinfectant, too, just in case.

A second later, you find your glasses case. Unharme— dang, there’s a crack. Well, it’s still useful.

* _You equip “Cracked Glasses” replacing Instrument Case. Instrument Case has been moved to weapon slot._

What?

* _Sorry, kind of have to say that stuff. You can now hit things with the ukulele._

Nope. That stuff is precious and being hit by it hurt so not happening.

* _Good. Just continue forward, kid saved again as a safeguard._

Who was this kid anyway? Saving? Sounds like stuff straight out of a video game.

Samira doesn’t get a chance to respond before a third of a second passes

* **LOAD**

and you wake up in the same spot with a lingering pain.

* _Look, hurry up. And it’s exactly like that, but not a game._

What if it was?

* _Were you apart of a game before you fell?_

No… You run forward at an insane pace, rivaled only by you in the past.

* _You’re safe now, you shouldn’t get attacked. I’m checking up on the kid._

A second later, Sam’s voice was back.

* _If you have any other jackets, bundle up ASAP._

Why?

* _It’s going to get a bit more snowy. No place is open for… very good reasons, actually. If you see another human person, run in the other direction._

Alright, that made sense. Thanks, Sam, for the info.

* _Stop with the sarcasm, Matt. You’re dead if something sees you. You’ve died twice!_

You don’t think you’ve died at all.

* _Because the kid saved then loaded to a point where you were alive! Think video games. If you load a previous save, you’re not going to get the progress you had a bit later. This kid is really bad at the “game” and saves a lot. I’m not waiting for a point when they save after you die._

Okay?

* _Also be a million times more paranoid._

Alright, you guess. You carry your bass case in your hand, prepared to use it as a shield if worse comes to worse. You move carefully, sticking to walls when you see a skeleton with a blue hoodie walking around.

* _Don’t panic. He might be friendly. Don’t blame him if he’s not, though, his brother died a few hours ago._

What? The poor guy, you almost want to rush out of your spot to go comfort the stranger. You know it would put you in serious danger though. You can’t bring yourself to just move forward and leave him behind, though.

* _Don’t_ —

“Hello?” You say, loud enough to get his attention.

“Who’s there?” He says. He had such a weird way of saying it, though, like he was being serious but he was so unused to that.

“I’m Matilda, what’s wrong?” You step out from the darkness of the walls.

And the second passes. You don’t see anything anymore—

* **SAVE**

* * *

 

_Hello?_

_hey. who are you?_

_I’m Matilda. Where… am I?_

_you’re dead._

_I don’t feel very dead right now— hey, wait, who are you? To be sure._

_sans. sans the skeleton._

_Wait, where’d Sam go?_

_sam?_

_Samira. My sister in a way. She’s… kind of like a narrator. This is so weird._

_how so?_

_Sam kind of told me what I was doing! Like, No, Mat, that’s purple, not blue. And Mat, just go into the house. No one lives there. Seriously, stop being so integrous and then I tell her that integrous isn’t a word. Where is she?_

_she probably left. you’re technically dead, you can’t do anything anymore._

_Okay then. Who killed me? Actually… probably was that guy with the blue hoodie, huh? Sam told me that he was probably harmless, but then also not to blame him if he wasn’t as such…_

_that was me._

_Oh. Hello, then! Sam told me— nevermind. What’s happening right now?_

_the kid is running around killing monsters._

_Monsters? I’m— explain please?_

_monsters are the people who live in the underground._

_Why are they killing them?_

_…_

_i don’t know. they should be in waterfall right now..._

_Wate—_

_*_ **LOAD**

_-rfall?_

_who are you?_

_I just told yo— oh! The kid probably just LOADED._

_you remember those?_

_Yeah! I thought anyone who was down here would remember it?_

_what just happened, then?_

_I introduced yourself, you introduced yourself— also, it’s nice to meet you, Sans— then you told me I’m dead. That’s basically what happened in the last minute or so._

_minute?_

_I mean, could be shorter, I have a terrible internal clock—_

_no. the kid loaded after a minute?_

_Yeah? Sam told me they were kind of bad at living. I don’t know what she meant by that— I haven’t met anything really malicious. Except you, I guess._

_can you tell me what happens in the loads?_

_Sure!_

_…_  
_…_

_This is incredibly boring. Give me a second—_

I focus, and then I see a snowy village. “Yes!”

“oh, hey.”

“I can do stuff! Wait, where’s my ukulele?”

“that huge case?”

“Yeah! Where is it?

“i didn’t grab it.”

Welp. There goes my experiment, and my ukulele.

“Oh well, probably can’t use it anyway— hey, I think the kid just saved. I’m not as good at knowing as Sam, though…”

“okay. we’d better hurry up.”

Suddenly we’re in an area with a heck ton of water.

“I’m assuming this is waterfall?”

“yep.”

“Has really nice ambience.”

“heh. it’s _killer_.” He chuckles, and I snort a little bit too.

“Woah, considering that, how can I speak as a ghost? Phantom vocal chords or something? Just a figment of whatever I want to do? That’d be absolutely hilarious if I could play an instrument noise without actually having one.”

I immediately try it. Humming, thinking of a song I’ve previously played on ukulele...

“Did that work?”

“yep.”

I whoop in victory! The possibilities! I experiment again— maybe doing multiple things! Oh, that’d be awesome!

“Let me try something else… oh, I know.” Drums and ukulele on another song! Matilda, you genius!

“Did that work?”

“yes.”

“I could hold a one person concert! Musical! With… one attendant— nevermind that! What are we doing? I can’t see.” It’s true. I’m tired and can't see anything anymore.

_we’re checking on undyne._

_Undyne?_

_the captain of the royal guard. she should still be alive._

_What makes you say that?_

_the kid would be loading constantly if they were fighting her._

_Okay. They aren’t, just to confirm. LOADING a lot, I mean. The kid just saved by the way! If that matters. What’s going on?_

_undyne is fighting the kid. i hope she manages to k-eel them this time._

_Keel? Like— oh, kill. That makes a lot more sense than what I’m thinking._

_orca–n’t you understand?_

_Orcant? ...Can’t, fish puns. Pfft. Okay, that was kinda funny. What brought these on?_

_undyne is a fish monster._

_Oh! Anyway, how is Undyne?_

_she died._

_Wait, what? That was sudden._

_she died and is coming back from the dead._

_N… evermind then? Is it just me, or do I hear some killer music right now?_

_it’s just you._

_Okay, then. I’m going to see what’s going on._

I focus into existence once more and look over to see a kid in varying shades of blue right a woman with blue scales and dull hair. She had epic armor on— in fact, the whole fight looked epic except for one fact.

“Why are they trading turns like it’s a video game? Why does Undyne wait for them to make a move before attacking?”

“dunno. never really questioned i—“

* **LOAD**

_Yikes. Kid died against Undyne. What happened a few seconds ago?_

_you were talking about a one person concert._

_Oh! Thanks! You said that Undyne was going to be hard to beat? I think you did, anyway. She looks pretty epic, I wouldn’t expect anything else. But the kid is also pretty bad at their game. I’m going to sleep for a while._

_wait—_

* **LOAD**

***LOAD**

***LOAD**

***LOAD**

***LOAD**

***LOAD**

***LOAD**

***LOAD**

***LOAD**

***LOAD**

***LOAD**

***LOAD**

_I’m back from my nap! The kid loaded 12 times so far, probably will do so more!_

_okay._

_I’m going to nap again. I can’t see anything, so this is kinda boring._

* **LOAD**

***LOAD**

***LOAD**

***LOAD**

***LOAD**

***LOAD**

***LOAD**

***LOAD**

***LOAD…**

**...**

_Where is the kid right now?_

_undyne's dead._

_That was… 21 loads._

* * *

 

**Quite Some Time Later.**

_Where are we now?_

_judgement hall._

_Oh. Okay, is the kid here?_

_yep._

_You’re talking right now, right?_

_mhmm._

_One moment!_

I focus back to see things, seeing a sharp, dusty knife belonging to a small child with a blue shirt. Same kid, but the look in their eyes seems to have changed after Mettaton.

I know my only contributions here are they loaded! And my integrity and determination (albeit very little) contributes to his abilities, apparently. But I can’t do anything.

“I’m going back. Better not exhaust my abilities.”

Soon, after uncountable loads, they don’t come back.

* **RESET.**


	2. think of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> matt wakes up. samira panics.

* **RESET**.

* _Matilda? Matt, wake up!_

You lie awake in a bright and damp area, cool yet you feel light beating on the front side of your body.

* _You should remember! What happened three seconds ago?_

A weird voice in the back of your head is yelling at you. Voice, it’s quite obvious three seconds ago you fell down a massive hole!

* _Oh, ya ibn i kalb! You don’t remember!_

Wait, Samira? You don’t know anyone else who would swear in Arabic. Let alone say “son of a dog” instead o—

_*Shh! Crash course, you’ve been here before! But that kid wasn’t here before…_

What kid? You look to see a kid with a sweater on, striped with blue and duller blue.

* _Purple-pink and blue, actually._

Really?

* _Yeah, Matt, really._

Huh. You move to follow the kid, noticing the kid already ran off. You run to follow them, entering a dull blue door that gave you insane deja vú— or, to make a hilarious pun that only existed due to your inability to pronounce the English language, _deja blue._

* _That was terrible and kind of funny._

Thanks! You notice the kid in front of a flower. The flower had this wicked look on his face, pure nightmare fuel if it weren’t on a buttercup. You’re pretty sure you’re hallucinating.

“Oh? And who’s this? Howdy—“

A fire ball appears, knocking away the buttercup. You’re shocked it didn’t burn the flower to ashes. A tall woman covering in fur and a dull blue cloak/dress thing (which definitely washed out the colors of her, to be honest) arrived, saying, “What a terrible creature, torturing poor, innocent youths.”

You haven’t seen her before. Unless you did?

_*You haven’t. If anything she was— oh. Oh no._

What?

_*... Don’t worry, Matilda. It might not happen this time._

This time? Probably referencing what she said earlier? But…

Hey, why is Sam here anyway?

 _*.._.

* _I may or may not have literally gotten sick with worry._

Wait, what?

*Oh, hey, look, Toriel needs to talk to you.

Who?

* _Goat lady._

Oh, okay. You nod as if you were paying attention.

“What is your name, my child?”

Oh, uh, you flinch a bit.

“Sorry, don’t call me that please? It’s Matilda. Or Matt. Or Tild— honestly, whatever you want! But just not ‘my child’ please?” You insist.

* _Matt, you really should move on from your dad._

No! Never. Your dad is incredibly nice! But he’s… poor. You can’t live with him until he’s not. You live with your brothers and sisters in another place, like with the responsible older sister Samira, the annoying little brother who pranks you to an absurd amount. 

You’re sure you’re never eating kiwis or avocados again, that’s all you know. Darn him, Joseph!

They don’t look anything like you, and you’re certainly not genetically related to them, but you’ve lived with them for almost half your life. Which isn’t saying much— you’re thirteen.

“O-of course, Matilda. Follow me, children!” Toriel tries to be upbeat as her statements ends, clearly thrown off at your insistence.

The kid moves somewhere else. You wait for them until they move to follow Toriel.

“Welcome to your new home, innocent ones! Allow me to educate you in the operation of the RUINS.”

* _So that’s what it’s called._

Suddenly, Toriel’s across the room flipping a switch. “The RUINS are full of puzzles. Ancient fusions between diversions and doorkeys. One must solve them from room to room.”

_*You fit in here, Matt! Someone who talks like you!_

Shut up. The kid walks to the walls and flips all the switches with the straightest poker face you’ve ever seen.

You nearly snicker! But you don’t, because that’s rude.

* _Frankly, they deserve it._

Deserve what? They haven’t done anything.

* _Yet_.

Okay?

You move on as the kid walks in front of you. It’s weird how they seem so slow paced, like a game without a sprint option.

You hate games like those. They take forever and you just don’t have the dedication.

* _and?_

Oh, and Sam loves those kinds of games. She’s weirdly patient like that.

You move forward, passing by puzzles that seem a bit weirdly familiar, but whatever. You don’t dwell on it.

* _Wait, who are you?_

What?

* _Not talking to you._

Oh, alright? You’d call her crazy, but she’s the voice in your head. You’d don’t have any room to say anything.

* _That's strange. Do you know why?_

Know what?

* _Still not talking to you, Matt._

You’re not used to this. Samira was your voice in the head— well, not really, she’s your sister, but she’s not anyone else’s guide!

* _Pfft. Stop thinking so loudly, Tild. Adults meeting._

You literally see no adults. Except Toriel, you guess.

“Stay here, Matilda, my child. I’ll be back. Here’s a phone to share.”

“Alright!” You reply, chipper.

* _Wait, they’re not responding?_

* _But that’s how guides work. They have to listen. I’d make a terrible joke on turning them off and back on again, or troubleshooting the browser—_

* _Wait, they’re leaving? Wait, no—_

You notice blue kid moving away. “Hey, Toriel said to stay here!”

The kid doesn’t listen. Well, their problem. You sit, waiting. It’s dreadfully boring, but you wouldn’t just disrespect Toriel’s wishes.

* _They took the phone._

They did what? Infinite more boredom then.

* _Wait for a while, alright? If you wait more than, uh, an hour, I’ll tell you to get to Home._

Home? But home is up on the surface with Ms. Skylar. And Sam with her terrible science and medical jokes, Joseph’s pranks that mentally scar you, Jenna’s kind words and constant scraping of vegetables to the community rabbit of the building. Or with your dad. You can have more than one home.

Why is Sam here again? Why not with Joseph and Jenna, the twins, or with Samantha? The girl who is always confused with Samira? Why not with Caleb, the kid closest to her age of 17? The newer kids, Katrina and Amanda, the most irresponsible and the ones who get in the most fights?

* _It’s 18 now. They’re fine, Jenna can take care of them._

Still. Why is she here?

* _What? Do you not want me here?_

You do! It’s just that it’s really weird. Up there has to be much more fun.

_*Not like I get a choice. Do you think I want to watch you die—_

Huh?

* _Of boredom! Down here? I’m literally sick with worry up there._

You’re curious. She’s mentioned “sick with worry” before. Though she didn’t use “up there” as a different place from “here” until now.

_*And it’s really annoying. I hear you in the second person—_

* **LOAD**

Wait, _really_? Second person is so annoying! You pity her.

* _and some of your thoughts. Only if they’re directed at something._

Yeah, you understand, but what about the sick with worry? Elaborate, Sam.

_*Okay… you’ve been missing for literally three weeks._

Huh?

* _I’ve been worrying to death, not bothering to eat and barely drinking. I’m in a coma up there. Tasked with telling a story._

Coma? Wait— by who?

* _You know what? I don’t have a clue. I don’t remember. That’s so weird._

Alright? You’re not sure if that’s true, but you can’t really bribe her to tell the truth. Hey, Sam, have your Nutella once you’re up there!

* _I seriously don’t know, Matt_.

Worth a shot! You wait a while longer, testing if your ukulele still works. It does.

* _Want to sing something with me?_

How? Sam’s a voice in your head.

_*I’ll let you sing the high parts?_

Deal. You strum a bit, thinking of a song. A duet? You think, intensely. What duets do you know?

You pause, deciding against it as you realize most duets you know are very romantic. Moving along— wait, Wicked!

* _Wicked_?

Duets in Wicked! There’s What is This Feeling, mocking love songs, there’s Defying Gravity, and For Good off the top of your head. What’s Sam’s choice?

* _Defying Gravity. You can sing Elphaba’s part?_

Perfect. You sing through as many songs, branching out of duets into solos and whole chorus songs.

An hour later, Sam stops singing.

* _Step i— wait, internal clock says an hour passed. Can we move on?_

What? But this is one of your favorite songs! Though, that kinda fluctuates between the minute. Plus, Toriel told you to stay here—

“Ah, Matilda! I should not have left you here so long, innocent one. I apologize for my tardiness.” That’s her!

“I hardly noticed! W… where are we going, again?”

“To HOME.”

“That’s… okay, but where’s that?”

“Just ahead, small one.”

You nearly huff with indignity, but you can tell Toriel’s being nice to you. It’s just she can never replace your father, and there’s absolutely no room in your mind for a mother figure— you know it’s incredibly stubborn and illogical, but…

_*You’ve just never been ready for it. Prepared, really. And you’ve never wanted or needed one?_

Yeah. That’s it. You’ve never prepared for a mother figure— your dad never moved on from your mom, after she died. That’s what he told you, anyway.

And you would never move on from your dad. You just know, in the deepest part of you’ll heart, you’ll live with him again.

You follow Toriel, quietly and keeping the internal war of how dare she try to replace your dad and she’s trying to be nice, return the favor.

Coughing, you come across a large tree. “We’re here. Go on in, and you must rest. It’s been a trying day, young one.”

Alright. You suppose it has. You look around for someplace to sleep.

The first door has one bed, with the kid already sleeping. You move to the next.

It has a queen-sized bed— immediately telling you, this is Toriel’s room, respect her privacy.

You close the door, going to the last. It has a sign on it— room under renovations.

You don’t enter it, looking around. It’s weird how the doors are on just one side of the hallway, but oh well. You see a mirror.

* _It’s you._

That’s shocking. You’d not sure what you expected.

You walk back to the living room to ask Toriel.

“Excuse me, Mi— uh, Toriel, where am I sleeping?”

“In the guest room, small one.”

“The other kid is sleeping there. I don’t want to kick them out.”

“Oh. I’ll be right back.”

Toriel runs off, apparently to do something? You’re not sure, but what you are sure of is that the armchair Toriel was sitting in? Looks very comfortable.

The next thing was that you felt well rested and something around your head.

* _About time, too._

Huh?

* _You’ve has a concussion ever since you fell. You didn’t notice?_

You really didn’t. Honestly, it doesn't even shock you when you realize it— that was a long fall and you have been dizzy..

_*You need to be more aware._

Of course you do. Sam should have already known this.

“Small one? Are you awake?”

“Yep. What happened?”

“Next time, Matilda, you’re sleeping in the last room on the left.”

“But all the doors are on the left. I’ll enter the first one on my right.”

Toriel snorts. “I also cleaned up your injury, innocent one. Does it hurt?”

“Nope! Thank you, Toriel!” You smile.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t heal it— magic doesn’t work with head injuries.”

“It’s fine! I’m never going to get used to this.” You laugh, certain. The moment you get used to magic?

You’d either die or use it yourself and that’s something straight out of a video game or some kind of horrible fantasy book.

You can’t think of anything off the top of your head, but you’re sure it exists. Somewhere. Probably.

You smell something particularly pleasant, sweet. You sneeze.

“Is that… pie?”

“Mhmm!”

“Oh jeez, I haven’t had pie in forever! What kind did you make?”

“Butterscotch-cinnamon. I decided to make both because you weren’t with your friend when I called to ask!”

Cinn— cinnamon. You feel like crying.

*Oh, no.

“I’m allergic to cinnamon…” You’ve never felt this sadness before, probably because you’ve never heard of a cinnamon pie before, but it’s mind-shattering, absolutely enough to bring you to depression.

If you hadn’t dealt with cinnamon allergies all your life. You’ve had to deal with the sadness of not being able to eat cinnamon rolls, applesauce or apple pie, and basically anything sweet.

You could stand not being able to eat pie.

“Oh, I am so sorry. I could bake another pie if you would like?”

You try not to take a deep breath before saying, “No, it’s fine. Thank you for everything.”

You know you’ve been rude, but as long as she doesn’t call you her child, she’s quite nice!

You sigh a little about what a jerk you’ve been, then sneezing.

“Are you ill, small one?”

“I’m not. Cinnamon is just really strong, you know?”

“I apologize again— would you like to rest in a room?”

You’re brought back to the fact you’re sitting on her chair. It’s the softest chair you’ve ever been on, if you’re honest. You don’t want to get up, but it _is_ her chair.

You stand up and thank Toriel again. You walk to the bedroom and examine yourself quickly, realizing you hadn’t done so earlier.

If you had, you might have noticed the head injury.

* _Matilda._

_*LV: 3  
*HP: 4/5_

_*AT: 3 (5)_

* _EXP: 0_

_*DF: 6 (9)_

_*NEXT: 17_

_*WEAPON: None  
*ARMOR: Bass Case_

_*GOLD: 0_

Cool. You don’t understand half that stuff, but thanks, Sam.

* _You’re welcome._

You’re reminded by the fact that Sam hasn’t talked all that much. Why?

* _Because you’re talking to people already?_

That doesn’t mean that you can’t talk to her at the same time!

* _No, you can’t._

Ouch, but she is kinda right. You’re terrible at multitasking. Truly terrible. You’d better stop thinking before—

_*Before I remind you on how bad you are at it? One time you tried to to talk while playing your ukulele— which isn’t a hard task at all, I’m bad at the instrument but I can play better than you if you’re doing something else._

Shut up, Sam! You’re insanely embarrassed by that— the only reason you’re not running to hide in blankets is because there’s nobody in your head with you. Nobody can hear.

Also, you’re already surrounded by blankets. You realize you’re in a massive king-size bed. What kind of luxury is this?

* _and you kept muttering notes and keys between words. It was— g— like— d— this— e7._

Know what? You’re just going to sleep. You don’t know who Samira is talking about. Matilda? Who’s that?

You hear a chuckle from Samira.

* _fine, go to sleep. You’ll be fine_

_****_

* * *

_***SAVE** _

 

_***RESET** _

 


	3. bravissima

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enter new player (sam is not amused and matt revisits age-old morality debates in her head)

_*Oh, not again…_

You lie awake in a bright and damp area, cool yet you feel light beating on the front side of your body.

You’re sure you heard something you weren’t supposed to— you ignore it. It sounded like ranting.

You wait a few seconds, turning away from the sunlight.

 _*Matilda, get up. You’re bleeding_.

You don’t feel like you’re bleeding.

* _What have I told you? Just because you don’t feel blood doesn’t mean it’s not there._

The only person to ever tell you that is Samira.

Who’s the voice?

* _Yeah, I’m Samira. You have to get up._

Samira is acting weirder than usual— normally she’d poke fun at you.

* _I’m sorry, Matt. But you have to get up, fast._

Okay? You’re concerned, what’s happening?

* _Run through arcs, and if you see a house, enter it._

But— that’s someone’s house. If it’s abandoned, that’s almost worse because it _was_ someone’s house at one point. You’re not trashing a house, Sam.

* _You’re not trashing it, you’re passing through. The exit’s on the other side._

But— can’t you go around the house?

* _Have you realized where you are?_

Nope. You look around. A cavern?

_*Yep. There isn’t a way around the house._

Why did they put a house on the exit, then?

_*I don’t know, Matilda. Hurry. You have to run._

You realize you’ve already started running. You don’t have anything with you.

* _You forgot your ukulele, jeez._

Oh crud. That thing has all your stuff in it.

* _Doesn’t matter. You’ll have to endure some snow._

Samira is acting crazy, panicking. You’ve only recognized her like this twice before, and you don’t like remembering it. It has to be worse than you think— seeing her panic is terrible, hearing panic is horrifying.

* _Sorry, but you have to hurry. I’ll be back in a second._

You wait a second.

* _oh. Nevermind. You’re fine._

Samira is giving you mixed messages. Should you hurry the heck up or not?

* _Hurrying up would be nice, but you don’t have to. They aren’t that far. I wonder what happened to the—_

You hear a ringing in your ear, immediately drowning out whatever Samira said. What was it?

* _The_ ~~ ** _ȩ̵̢͓̜̼̬̫͐͊̎͋̆ͧ͌͐̽́a̾̂̄ͨ͑͏̸̘͍̝̣̼̱̥͇̖l͌̓ͭ̈̑͞͏̶̮̳̹̖͈̙̜̮̘̲ͅr̵̭̦͚̭̣̖̞̖̹̹̹͓̹͗ͣ̔̓̏̈́͑̒͒̓ͩ̄́̚͜͡y̧̙̭̪̹̖̳̮̫͍̞̜͈͓̼͓͐͑̇̂́͠͡ͅP̸̢̲̺͙̰̟̯̮͖ͣͯ̑ͩͥͫͩ_**~~

You hear a weird static sound. You don’t understand. Samira repeats it.

* ~~ ** _ȩ̵̢͓̜̼̬̫͐͊̎͋̆ͧ͌͐̽́a̾̂̄ͨ͑͏̸̘͍̝̣̼̱̥͇̖l͌̓ͭ̈̑͞͏̶̮̳̹̖͈̙̜̮̘̲ͅr̵̭̦͚̭̣̖̞̖̹̹̹͓̹͗ͣ̔̓̏̈́͑̒͒̓ͩ̄́̚͜͡y̧̙̭̪̹̖̳̮̫͍̞̜͈͓̼͓͐͑̇̂́͠͡ͅP̸̢̲̺͙̰̟̯̮͖ͣͯ̑ͩͥͫͩ_**~~

You still can’t understand a thing. In fact, you can barely hear your own thoughts in the static and the jumble or letters.

* _Then… I’ll just not say it?_

That’d be nice, but you’re still insanely curious.

* _Don’t be. Are you at HOME?_

It sounds proper, how she says home. The only homes you know are on the—

_*Sorry. Have you reached the house-like structure, Matilda?_

Yes. Yes you have.

* _Okay, don’t go into the basement yet._

Why?

* _Don’t_.

You haven’t even entered yet. The house definitely belongs to someone. You smell— cinnamon. You sneeze. And absurd amounts of dust. It belongs to someone.

 _*It won’t for long_.

That’s— is that a threat, Sam?

* _No, in all likelihood, this ~~ **ȩ̵̢͓̜̼̬̫͐͊̎͋̆ͧ͌͐̽́a̾̂̄ͨ͑͏̸̘͍̝̣̼̱̥͇̖l͌̓ͭ̈̑͞͏̶̮̳̹̖͈̙̜̮̘̲ͅr̵̭̦͚̭̣̖̞̖̹̹̹͓̹͗ͣ̔̓̏̈́͑̒͒̓ͩ̄́̚͜͡y̧̙̭̪̹̖̳̮̫͍̞̜͈͓̼͓͐͑̇̂́͠͡ͅP̸̢̲̺͙̰̟̯̮͖ͣͯ̑ͩͥͫͩ**~~ seems to be actually good at the game._

Don’t say that, Sam. Your thoughts are already getting muddled.

* _Sorry, Matt._

*... _no one is in the RUINS._

What?

* _Sorry, the last person in the ruins has died. The few that were freed from the onslaught have escaped to HOTLAND._

Can you guess… that hotland is hot?

* _Yes. Move on, Matt._

But… does Sam have no respect for the dead? The owner of the house just died and Sam’s telling her to just trespass a dead person's house?

* _If it helps, it’s literally impossible for you to leave if you don’t enter the house._

You don’t want to admit it, but that does shift a bit of the decision. But your mind hasn’t changed.

*... _We can stay here all day._

Yeah. You can do that.

A few minutes later, Sam speaks up.

* _You could catch the person who attacked Toriel._

Toriel?

* _the woman who lived here._

That… definitely drives you on the tip of entering the house, but you don’t have a weapon. How are you supposed to — how could anyone kill another?

* _Oh, dear Matilda, this isn’t “real life” to that person or people. The ~~ **ȩ̵̢͓̜̼̬̫͐͊̎͋̆ͧ͌͐̽́a̾̂̄ͨ͑͏̸̘͍̝̣̼̱̥͇̖l͌̓ͭ̈̑͞͏̶̮̳̹̖͈̙̜̮̘̲ͅr̵̭̦͚̭̣̖̞̖̹̹̹͓̹͗ͣ̔̓̏̈́͑̒͒̓ͩ̄́̚͜͡sy̧̙̭̪̹̖̳̮̫͍̞̜͈͓̼͓͐͑̇̂́͠͡ͅP̸̢̲̺͙̰̟̯̮͖ͣͯ̑ͩͥͫͩ**~~ don’t care. It’s a game to them._

That’s twisted. Your mind is a bit dizzy from the word you can’t and can never hear.

* _Sorry, Matt, but that person isn’t a person anymore. You can’t kill them, but you might stop them._

What?

_*If you hurry, Matilda._

Okay. You start running.

* _Oh, and find a sweater. You’re going to need it._

But? The cavern has a homey feeling to it, like an open fire?

* _The place after this snows._

Snows? Underground? Samira’s crazy. Actually, Samira, why does she know this?

*...

She seems to think about it.

_*I don’t know? I’ve been here before, but the first time, I think I’ve always known?_

Samira is crazy. You suppose if she’s right, you don’t mind.

_*Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m going to explore._

Explore? Where? Oh, she probably left. You sit in front of the door. If Sam’s not there, she can’t force you into anything. Definitely not walking into a dead woman(?)’s house.

You wait a bit longer, but you are never patient. Never at all. You feel useless and out-of-place. You’re— this game was never about you, in Samira’s terms.

This “game” has lasted little over seven minutes, yet you already feel as if you’re not in on a secret and everyone you trust is gossiping around you. Which, admittedly, Samira is the only one you can talk to and she’s the only one who’s in on the secret.

Samira is like an older sister. It seems insane she would have a secret a kid five years younger than her would not be in on.

You wait a little bit longer, your patience then almost nonexistent. Like uncooked spaghetti noodles that snap with a little pressure. You’re entertained by the fact you once made a bridge of spaghetti sticks, wood glue and tape and it held a toy car.

That was fun, as you remember, but you also remember how the glue stuck to your fingers for weeks later. You are terrible with glue and you’re pretty sure you’re allergic to something in it, as in every project involving it you start sneezing and coughing.

You don’t know what to do. When you normally run out of things to think, you clean up the orphanage. You don’t have anywhere to clean. It’s not yours to clean.

* _I’m back. I understand, now. This time for certain…_

Samira!

* _You haven’t entered the house yet?_

No. Has Samira been there to force you? Of course not, then you wouldn’t just go against moral code to enter someone’s house, live or not. Has Sam seen the Phantom of the Opera?

 _*I have. You’ve forced me to watch it at least twenty seven times. That’s not even an exaggeration_.

It’s not. It’s actually been twenty nine, you were planning on watching it for the thirtieth time on your bar— bat mi—

Nevermind. Should you enter? It’s absurdly silently. You don’t hear mad men pretending to be ghosts, murdering stagehands and you certainly can’t hear the tell-tale sound of lives being destroyed.

_*Go in. I’m at least 100% certain there are no lonely souls that want company. Even if they’re a bit obsessive..._

You roll your eyes. Sam does this all the time— you know who her favorite is, yes. His life’s been terrible. You get it.

He’d be your favorite, too, if he weren’t so morally corrupt. No, you can’t just murder a stagehand because he trash-talked you. You can’t just drop a f—

* _That’s enough. I pity him, that’s all. He deserved a better life, even if he never existed._

That, you two can agree on. You cried at the end of the movie. Musicals and feelings.

_*not technically a musical, I think. Musical theatre._

No? It doesn’t have to be Broadway for it to be a musical. Actually, the Phantom of the Opera _was_ on Broadway for like thirty years. You’re pretty sure it’s still ongoing.

* _It is. Do I have to yell at you to get moving?_

Dang, topic changes. How dare Samira know she was stalling.

* _Hurry up. The kid is already past the house, don’t you want to end this massacre?_

You don’t know. Wouldn’t k— wait, a kid?

* _Not a kid, exactly. You could say they’re… possessed? In a game, like Chell in Portal. Their actions are controlled. It’s a ~~ **ȩ̵̢͓̜̼̬̫͐͊̎͋̆ͧ͌͐̽́a̾̂̄ͨ͑͏̸̘͍̝̣̼̱̥͇̖l͌̓ͭ̈̑͞͏̶̮̳̹̖͈̙̜̮̘̲ͅr̵̭̦͚̭̣̖̞̖̹̹̹͓̹͗ͣ̔̓̏̈́͑̒͒̓ͩ̄́̚͜͡y̧̙̭̪̹̖̳̮̫͍̞̜͈͓̼͓͐͑̇̂́͠͡ͅP̸̢̲̺͙̰̟̯̮͖ͣͯ̑ͩͥͫͩ**~~._

Then you don’t want to kill them. Your mind is muddled by strange symbols once again, but you think you can fill in the blanks. A player?

* _Yes. I don’t think I can acknowledge it anymore though— you can’t exorcise the kid._

You can’t kill someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing, with no control.

* _They likely never will have control, Matt. I wouldn’t depend on convincing them to. You can’t convince the main character of a video game to stop being in the game._

You don’t understand at all. You aren’t cruel— you can’t kill anyone, not unless they’ve done something terrible to the people you know.

_*This will happen, Matilda. The child will kill families and friends._

You… have to move forward. Samira’s right. You can’t put this off, thinking of the people who would cause you to be irrationally murderous if they were killed by someone else, even if it was a child.

There’s a small voice in the corner of your mind. Not Samira, a conscience perhaps? It says that you shouldn’t be biased against the people you don’t know.

It says that the people who matter to you are just as much people as others and just as deserving. You can’t push it away, but you can ignore it.

* _Go, Matilda. Search for a sweater— even if it’s too big or small. You’ll need one, no matter what._

You search for a sweater, heeding Sam. Entering a recently used room, you see a closet with numerous shoes and numerous clothes. You find a jacket that’s just your size. It’s orange with yellow stars, but you can’t bring yourself to take it.

It might have been considered made for people like you, but it no longer applies. You move on.

You see another sweater, much smaller than your size and made for a girl. It was a deep blue with turquoise dots, like bubbles in an ocean. It wasn’t made for you, perhaps, but it fills you with a happiness that you just can’t take it off.

It’s small, and you would have preferred your own sweater, but it’s fuzzy and warm and you don’t consider looking for something else.

You go down a staircase into a deep, dull blue that felt suffocating and torturously long. It was claustrophobia-inducing, if you had that.

You don’t. It gives a feeling of purpose, something you can appreciate.

The smell of cinnamon and— you didn’t notice before. Butterscotch? It faded just as quickly as you realized it was there, the cinnamon so much stronger and so much more allergy-inducing.

It faded away, too, but only after a long walk that made you feel as if you had a flu. Instead, a smell that you’d associate with a ghost-town or long-since abandoned house permeated the area.

A pile of dust. You don’t see any corpses. You question Samira about this strange development.

* _These people evolved in a different way. They turn to dust when they die._

You pause after entering a cave with a bit of grass. Samira would have to explain what these people are like.

* _They are people made of magic, they have souls that are seriously made of compassion and love. Their names are unfortunate and not representative of their nature._

You’d chalk this up to an elaborate prank if it were anyone but Samira, any other tone than that of dead seriousness. You don’t know a time when you’ve heard that in her voice.

* _they are called monsters, ironically. Matt, it sounds ridiculous but it’s true._

You don’t mention to Sam that it sounds a lot like Christine convincing Raoul the Phantom of the Opera is real. You’re sure she’d get angry— Christine was her least favorite, and Sam’s serious.

You hear a sigh. You realize Sam can hear you, even if what you think isn’t directed at her.

* _At least you acknowledge Christine was right, like me. I won’t lie to you._

You belatedly remember that Christine wasn’t your favorite either. She was cruel, but not as cruel as the Phantom.

* _Be serious, Matt. Do I have to remind you people are dying?_

Samira’s right. You continue again, but faster.

* _If you hurry, you will definitely catch up. They aren’t even near the end of the t— Snowdin, I think._

Snowdin? Snowed… in? Who made that up? You want to applaud to them. It’s appropriate considering the cold temperature. You’re upset that you let yourself prevent you from the perfect yellow and orange jacket.

**Author's Note:**

> If anything is out of character, please tell me! As well as any grammar mistakes and spelling mistakes


End file.
